The Fourth Link - Part Two
by Razors
Summary: The conclusion to "The Fourth Link". Haunted by a mysterious voice in her head, Lara heads for the jungles of Bolivia - she just doesn't know why...


Lara Croft and Tomb Raider are trademarks of Core and Eidos Interactive. This story includes references to Winston, Jaqueline Natla and several other elements of the original Tomb Raider game. All other characters in this story are my own creation (although the character of Lenny Cartwright is loosely based on a certain British anti-hero).  
  
This story takes place in the Republic of Bolivia, and although I did a fair bit of research, I've had to use some literary license about the place (but what the hell, it's fiction right?). There's some pretty heavy violence to follow, a smattering of harsh language and some light drug abuse. You have been warned. Any critique (positive or otherwise, as long as it's constructive) will be welcome at razors80@hotmail.com.  
  
  
  
1 THE FOURTH LINK  
  
2 Part Two  
  
by  
  
3 Razors  
  
* * * * *  
  
Afterwards, all she remembered was the voice.  
  
It spoke to her when she was asleep. Sometimes she thought she could hear it in her waking hours, but no matter how hard she tried it always stayed just out of reach, on the edge of her consciousness. A few nights ago – lying in her bed at the hotel in La Paz – she'd tried to stay on the edge of sleep for as long as she could, silencing her mind, hoping to hear what the voice was saying.  
  
But eventually, she fell asleep. She knew the voice had come to her again, but when she woke up she couldn't remember what it had sounded like or – more importantly – what it had said. It was the same every night, since leaving Los Angeles.  
  
All she knew was that it was telling her to go somewhere.  
  
You know where to go.  
  
"Yes…"  
  
Another voice broke into her mind. "Yes what?"  
  
Lara Croft woke up with a start, her body jerking upright off the low cot beneath her. Across the room, the other occupant gave a start. "Steady on," he grinned. "You okay?"  
  
Lara started breathing again, dragging a shaking hand over her eyes. "I'll let you know," she groaned. Swinging her legs off the cot, she leaned on her knees with her head in both hands.  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
She shook her head slightly, still holding her head. "Don't remember." She slowly raised her head to peer at the man sitting at the table across the room. She'd come all the way to Bolivia – an overpriced flight to La Paz, then a series of buses and trucks bouncing along bad roads into the Amazon Basin and the river town of Rurrenabaque – and she'd ended up sharing a room with a fellow countryman.  
  
And god help her, it had turned out to be Lenny Cartwright. Lara knew she was famous, but Lenny was a legend in his own lifetime. He was infamous. He was one of the few people to whom Lara might have debased herself by asking for an autograph.  
  
He wouldn't have obliged, and she'd discovered that she was, after all, too proud to ask.  
  
Lenny sat on a rusted metal chair by the chipped table, his portly frame covered by a black t-shirt, khaki jungle shirt and matching shorts, slightly damp with sweat. His hair, such as it was, was snowy white. He was an old man now, his exploits (read: crimes) in the distant past, but he still had the steel gaze and sardonic, "come-and-get-me-you-bastards" smile that he'd worn on the front pages of a dozen British newspapers back in the seventies. He regarded Lara with what might have been concern for a few seconds, before returning his attention to the month-old edition of El Diario on his lap.  
  
"Was I talking in my sleep?" Lara asked him, almost dreading the question.  
  
Lenny glanced up from the paper, and gave a short nod. "Yes," he replied.  
  
Lara closed her eyes. "What did I say?"  
  
The corners of Lenny's mouth hitched upwards. "That is what you said. You said 'Yes'. Then you shot up off the bed."  
  
Lara ran a shaking hand through her hair, which was matted down with sweat. It was hot – the rainy season wasn't far off – and the humidity was a constant nightmare, but she was sure that the perspiration sticking her clothes to her skin was more the result of her dream than the climate. "God, I need a shower."  
  
"Five," Lenny smiled, his eyes on the paper.  
  
"What?" Lara mumbled.  
  
"That's the fifth time you've said 'God, I need a shower' since you got here. I'd have thought 'The Croft' would be a bit more used to roughing it in the jungle."  
  
Lara smiled weakly. 'The Croft' was one example of Lenny's unique vernacular. He often referred to himself as 'The Cartwright'. She slowly stood up, grasping the collar of her vest in two fingers to peel it off her skin. "I am," she smiled. "But whenever I get back from the jungle, the first thing I need is a shower."  
  
"Six," Lenny grinned.  
  
"That doesn't count," Lara chided him, walking towards the back door of the hut. Without turning around, she added, "And stop looking at my bum."  
  
Lenny smiled and returned his attention to the paper.  
  
Lenny's hut was just that – a wooden hut with mismatched tiles on the roof, standing on poles on the banks of the Rio Beni. The tourist town of Rurrenabaque lay two miles south, and Lara had arrived there by boat four days ago. Under normal circumstances she might have checked into the Safari Hotel and slept in a room with an actual bed and bathroom before ploughing into the wilderness, but not on this trip. She was trying to remain incognito.  
  
Eric Phelner was hot on her tail.  
  
She didn't remember much about what had happened in Phelner's LA office, at least not after they'd injected her with the drugs. That was when the dream had first taken her. She remembered the pain – the pain in her body and, beneath it, the pain in her mind. And the fear.  
  
…like-talons-tearing-at-my-stomach…  
  
She knew she'd killed someone – two people at least. She couldn't picture their faces, or how they'd died, but she still felt a dull ache of guilt. She knew she'd killed them with her bare hands.  
  
… screaming-as-loud-as-I-can-but-they-can't-hear-me…  
  
The first clear memory she had was sitting in the back of a taxi as it was approaching her hotel. At first she thought that she'd just fallen asleep in the cab, coming back from Phelner's office after turning down his offer. She'd handed a couple of bills to the driver, gone up to her room, ordered room service. She thought she was going to get a good night's sleep in preparation for the busy day she had coming up.  
  
Until she'd started undressing, and looked down at her stomach. And remembered.  
  
For days afterwards, she was sure she'd killed Phelner too. She remembered him running away from her, but the rest was a blur. But if she'd killed the other two, then surely…  
  
… can't-stop-it-coming-in-it's-in-my-mind-it's-shouting-things-into- my-brain…  
  
She'd left LA the following day, leaving the university and her publisher to wonder where she'd gone. She hadn't even sent word home to Winston. None of it mattered any more. She'd grabbed the first flight she could get to Bogota, then transferred to an LAB flight to La Paz. And she'd stayed there for two days, uncertain of her next move.  
  
Eric Phelner had arrived on the second day - with company. She'd seen them at her hotel, apparently having traced her from the airport. In evading them and leaving the city, she'd left most of her luggage in her room.  
  
After that she'd avoided the main tourist route north, taking less reputable forms of transportation to the Rio Beni.  
  
Would Phelner be able to track her down? Had her sudden disappearance from Los Angeles resulted in a search by the authorities? Did anyone know where she was?  
  
Forget it. It didn't matter. All that concerned her now was…  
  
Was what? What was she doing? Why had she come to Bolivia, to Rurrenabaque, to this run-down hovel on the riverbank? And where was she going next?  
  
*  
  
Despite his rustic residence, Lenny Cartwright at least had a shower. In the broader sense of the term, of course – it was basically a water tank with a pull-chain and a crude wooden cubicle built around it. The water was just cool enough to be a relief from the humidity.  
  
Lara tried not to look at her stomach while she bathed, but it was inevitable. She didn't want to look at it, but she had to. The flat, rainbow-coloured metal circle was still attached over her navel, the orange crystal sphere glittering in the center. She knew that the three metallic prongs around the edge were still buried inside her – she could see the metal embedded in her skin, and she could almost feel the things inside her, though perhaps that was subconscious.  
  
The Scion Heart.  
  
She couldn't really remember how it had gotten there, though she knew it had happened while Phelner had her under sedation. The thing was – she didn't feel bad about it being there. There was a slight revulsion at the knowledge that it was sticking into her innards, but beyond that… she felt as thought it belonged there. It had become a part of her, like her arms and legs.  
  
But she also knew that the Heart was the source of the voice which haunted her nights and eluded her during the day. She was here because this thing in her stomach wanted her here. It was leading her somewhere.  
  
You know where to go.  
  
You know what to do.  
  
Lara closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her face.  
  
I hope so, she thought.  
  
*  
  
Lara came back into the hut wearing a pair of grey shorts and a fresh t- shirt. She was already beginning to sweat again, but at least it was fresh sweat. Lenny had given up on the newspaper and was sorting though his bookshelves, trying to find something he hadn't read for a while.  
  
"Don't you ever get bored hiding out here?" Lara asked.  
  
"I'm not hiding, I'm staying out of the way," Lenny corrected her. "There's a difference."  
  
"Of course. So when are your boys coming back with the boat?"  
  
Lenny checked his watch. "Should be another hour and a half. They'll be bringing all the equipment you ordered, too."  
  
"No problems?" Lara asked, sitting on the cot to start plaiting her hair. The surface of the cot was still uncomfortably damp.  
  
"Not with the regular gear," Lenny shrugged. "Hiking equipment isn't exactly a rare commodity in these parts. As for the other stuff, I had to go through some rather more nefarious sources. It was expensive."  
  
"Well, money's not something I have a problem with."  
  
"Expect not." Lenny sank into his chair again. "So now can you tell me where we're going?"  
  
Lara tried to think of an answer. "Upriver," was the best she could manage.  
  
"Could you be a bit more vague, d'you think?"  
  
She snorted. "I'll know when we get there." And she would - she was sure of it.  
  
"Oh, good," Lenny smiled. "And here I was worrying that we were flying blind."  
  
Lara looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she continued weaving her hair into a long plait. She was lucky to have him, she knew. Licensed tour guides would be useless to her on this trip, and you couldn't trust some of the independent ones – she'd heard all kinds of stories about swindling, outright theft, even rape. Nothing she couldn't handle, but she'd have enough to contend with in the jungle without having to keep one eye on her guide. And none of them would be willing to take her upriver if she couldn't give them a clear destination and schedule.  
  
Except Lenny.  
  
He'd been in South America since '78, seeking to avoid the custody of the Crown back home. Lara - a Wimbledon schoolgirl at the time – remembered all the media attention over his dramatic exodus from the country ("Lenny Legs It" had been her favourite headline). Most of the papers painted him as a modern-day Robin Hood. Opinion was divided on this subject, of course – Lara recalled her father stating that for men like Lenny Cartwright, the Crown should reinstate public floggings.  
  
Lenny had spent the first few years keeping out of sight in Puerto Deseado, but when things backfired on him there – the Falklands War had made things decidedly uncomfortable for a fugitive Englishman in Argentina – he'd started to move around from place to place, and finally ended up carving out a new existence in what he referred to as "the fat end of the continent". Referring to him as a "jungle guide" was a bit of a joke, since he had all the jungle expertise of a polar bear. But he employed a couple of local men who knew the area and it's dangers, and his little business gave him the freedom to run his boat up and down the Beni with impunity. There was always some cargo that needed shipping, preferably without the local authorities noticing. Lenny was always one to lend a helping hand.  
  
Now that she'd met the man behind the myth, Lara wasn't sure which side of it to believe. He didn't strike her as a ruthless criminal, but Robin Hood? Hardly. He was just an opportunistic "wide boy" who knew when to make a run for it. And had more luck than one person deserved.  
  
The boat arrived two hours later – a grubby old barge presently operating under the name San Vicente. Lenny had renamed it himself, after "that village where Butch and Sundance got topped." It was piloted by Lenny's two employees, Caesar and Antonio. Caesar spoke Spanish, Quechua and faltering English; Antonio, as far as anyone knew, never spoke in any language. Lenny's Spanish was appalling, but somehow they communicated. They brought with them enough supplies for a three-day excursion upriver, and a hefty duffle bag containing the items Lara had purchased. Caesar carried the bag into the hut for her, despite her protests which he pretended not to understand. Then he quickly went back to the boat to try to bridge the language barrier – Lenny was already starting to raise his voice.  
  
Lara opened the duffle bag and laid the contents out on her cot. New boots – she cursed the fact that she'd have no time to wear them in, but it couldn't be helped – a couple of changes of clothes, socks, underwear etc; a powerful insect repellant, although she knew the bugs in this territory feared no chemical; a knife and machete; a flashlight and flares; foot powder and a water bottle. Lenny was handling things like fresh water, salt tablets and first aid, and the boat was well stocked – well, she'd check that it was before they set off, anyway.  
  
Which only left her more specialized equipment.  
  
The guns weren't all she'd hoped, but she could hardly send them back with a sharp letter of complaint. Not bad, though. They'd managed to find her two .357 Sig automatics, and they came with holsters. She'd have preferred Uzis, but it basically came down to the difference between making lots of little holes or a few big ones, and either way was effective. They'd also provided a compact .45 with an ankle-holster – she hadn't asked for one, but a backup weapon would be useful, she supposed. Only one clip for that one, she noticed, although she had Sig ammo to burn.  
  
The shotgun was nice, though – black compact police model. Like the rest of the weapons, it wasn't new – probably seized arms that had found their way back into circulation for a reasonable price. Oh, well – beggars can't be choosers.  
  
They were ready to leave by noon. Lara walked down to the boat with her backpack slung over one shoulder, dressed in a dark green tank top and khaki shorts. She was already wearing the handguns (the .45 holster fitted quite snugly around her right boot) and carrying the shotgun in her other hand. Caesar gave a low whistle as he saw her approach; Antonio just raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Now you look like yourself," Lenny smiled, slipping a wide-brimmed leather hat onto his head. "I mean – y'know, I've seen pictures…"  
  
"Thanks, I think." Lara made her way onto the deck of the boat, smiling at Caesar and Antonio as she passed them. When her back was turned, Caesar turned to his partner and murmured, "Usted vio su pecho, Antonio?" Antonio nodded, a beatific smile on his face.  
  
Was now a good time to tell them she was fluent in Spanish? No – better to wait until they said something really inappropriate.  
  
Ten minutes later the San Vicente was chugging it's way up the Rio Beni, to a destination at which it's sole passenger couldn't even guess.  
  
*  
  
If there was one thing Albert Gullardo hated, it was tourists. American and English and European and god knew what else, all lumbering their sweaty, camera-laden, SPF-20 carcasses around the continent, waddling like sheep after the tour guides to take snapshots of their fat wives and ugly children standing in front of a pyramid.  
  
And asking him to hold the camera so they could be in the shot.  
  
Alright, so that had only happened once, and he'd gotten a free Nikon out of it, but he still hated them.  
  
Fortunately, the tourists who came down here for the jungle tours were a slightly hardier breed, the kind who wanted to go trek through the jungle and see the wildlife. The adventurers, he thought, with a derisive smile. And the high tourist season in this part of the country had ended over a month ago, so things weren't so bad right now.  
  
But now he had to deal with Eric Phelner, which in many ways was worse. Just another rich American in Gullardo's country.  
  
Technically Bolivia wasn't his country, of course – Albert Gullardo was Colombian. But in the course of his forty years he'd been from one end of South America to the other, he'd visited places and dealt with people – and hunted people – in every nation on that continent, and the borders meant nothing to him. He had contacts and partners in every country, a favourite bar in every city, a favourite girl in every brothel. When he looked at a map, he didn't see Colombia, Venezuela, Brazil, Bolivia and so on – he saw South America. As far as he was concerned, the whole damn thing was his country.  
  
"He's late," said a voice on Gullardo's left.  
  
Gullardo turned his head to look at Hugo, his long-time partner in crime, who sat at the steering wheel of the land cruiser. The two men couldn't have been more different – Gullardo was well over six feet tall and built like a brick wall, with cropped black hair and a thick goatee, and was clad in khaki trousers with a tight-fitting black t-shirt and, despite the heat, a calf-skin jacket. Hugo, by comparison, looked like a man-shaped dumpling in a Hawaiian shirt. He might have had hair once - but not, alas, any more - and he had a face like a bulldog.  
  
"I know," Gullardo responded, leaning back in the seat. "He's always late. Be late for his own funeral, that man." He craned his neck to look at the men in the seat behind them. The one on the left was his nephew, Andrés – a skinny kid with a mullet and a wispy moustache, he looked stupid but was reliable and could handle a gun. But it was the man on the right – the blonde gringo in the military fatigues – of whom Gullardo asked, "Why is that, you think? I thought you Americans were always in a goddamn hurry."  
  
"Got me, sir," the man replied.  
  
Gullardo faced forward with a grunt. Idiota, he thought.  
  
It was another ten minutes before the vehicle they'd been waiting for finally rolled down the street. It was a black hum-vee, speckled with dirt from the highway. It pulled to a stop on the other side of the street, and the doors opened.  
  
"Okay," Gullardo sighed. "Be polite, boys. He's paying cash."  
  
He popped the door of the truck and unfolded his tall frame, stepping out of the vehicle and slipping a pair of wrap-around sunglasses onto his face at the same time. Hugo got out the other side, and leaned on the hood as they waited for their employer to approach.  
  
Eric Phelner walked across the street wearing a white t-shirt already stained with sweat, a pair of tan-coloured cargo shorts and hiking boots. He was followed by his constant shadow, Caleb - similarly dressed, but apparently willing to brave the humidity to avoid the ignominy of wearing short pants. Gullardo noted that Caleb's right forearm was wrapped in a flexible cast.  
  
"Recepción a Rurrenabaque, Señor Phelner," Gullardo nodded. "You remember Hugo?"  
  
"I remember Hugo," Phelner lied. He paused to take in the town around him. "So this is it, huh? What a shithole."  
  
"Shittier places than this in Bolivia," Gullardo pointed out. Maybe I can strand you in one of them, he added mentally.  
  
"You arrange the boat okay?" Phelner asked.  
  
"Uh-huh. Stocked up and ready to go."  
  
"And the hired help?"  
  
"Got my nephew Andrés to come along. He's a good kid." Gullardo smiled and leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I got a new guy, too. Seen him work, he's good enough. He ain't all there in the head, though. Just smile and nod." Turning back to the land cruiser, he called, "Stig!"  
  
The right rear door popped open, and the occupant climbed out. He was caucasian, short and stocky, with a lantern jaw and a shaved fuzz of blonde hair on his head. He was wearing a black tank top, military DPMs and jungle boots. He walked stiffly up beside Gullardo and extended a hand. "Stig Pearson, sir," he nodded.  
  
Phelner carefully shook the man's hand, trying to keep his smile friendly rather than amused. He was wondering how many back-issues of Soldier of Fortune Stig had under his bed. He's wearing dog-tags, for chrissake!  
  
"Good to know you, Stig."  
  
"Pleasure's mine, sir."  
  
"Yeah," Phelner smiled. "You all know who we're looking for?"  
  
"Lara Croft," Gullardo replied. There was a faint hint of anticipation in his voice.  
  
Phelner smiled. "Like her, huh?"  
  
Gullardo stared him down. "I like her style. I'm looking forward to tracking her down. Always wanted to go head-to-head with a pro like her."  
  
"I'll bet," Phelner grinned. "But we're not tracking her so much as racing her. I know where she's headed, and I want to get there first. That way we can trap the little skank when she shows up, keep it nice and tidy. And I want her alive, for a while anyway. If you have to shoot, just try to pin her down."  
  
Gullardo glowered behind his sunglasses. Most of the people he went after were scumbags, but a few, like his current target, warranted a certain amount of professional respect. That "skank" remark had bothered him a little. "So why are we after her, anyway?" he asked. "What's the payoff for you?"  
  
Phelner looked mildly offended at the question, but answered it anyway. "She stole something from me. I want it back."  
  
"So we'll go get it for you," Gullardo shrugged. "You don't have to trouble yourself with crawling through the nasty old jungle. Drive back to La Paz and go skiing. We'll contact you when we get your property back."  
  
"Sorry," Phelner smiled, though only with his mouth. "Package deal."  
  
Probably thinks I'll keep the damn thing, Gullardo thought. He had no problem with lifting the odd camera, wallet or car, but he never stole from clients.  
  
"Boat's waiting," he grunted, turning back to the land cruiser. "Follow us."  
  
*  
  
Night was starting to close in, which brought some relief from the heat but not the humidity. Lenny was slumped in a folding chair on the deck of the San Vicente, watching the river go by and swatting bugs. Every so often he would fan himself with his hat.  
  
"Want to hear my speech about the history of the region?" he called. "Memorized it for the tourists, but I hardly ever get any."  
  
"No thanks," Lara replied. She was sitting cross-legged on the deck, sharpening her machete and checking her guns for the twentieth time. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Yes, all very well, but she was starting to get bored. Usually she'd have something to occupy her mind, like studying her notes on the site she was about to explore. But this time, there were no notes. She wasn't even sure there was a site.  
  
"I want to test-fire this shotgun," she told Lenny. "Okay by you?"  
  
"Er," Lenny looked worried. "Feel free…"  
  
Lara loaded in two shells and held the weapon up as she rose and walked to the gunwale. "Caesar, I'm going to fire this thing over the side," she called. "Don't panic."  
  
"Hokay," Caesar called, from his position at the wheel. He tapped Antonio on the shoulder and made a "bang-bang" motion with his hands.  
  
Lara raised the shotgun to her cheek and picked a target. There was a half-submerged branch, thicker than a man's leg, protruding from the river about twenty metres from the boat. Sighting carefully along the gun, she held her breath, flipped the safety off and squeezed the trigger.  
  
The shotgun kicked back into her, and with a loud boom a spray of water shot up a few inches from the branch. It was followed a second later by bird-cries and rustling in the branches as some of the local fauna decided to be elsewhere. All this was soon drowned out by a second boom as Lara worked the slide action and compensated her aim. The branch splintered as buckshot ripped into it.  
  
Lara lowered the shotgun and gave a curt nod. "Good enough."  
  
Lenny gave her a weak smile as she scooped up the ejected shells and sat down to clean the weapon. "Is this a hunting trip, by any chance?"  
  
"Depends if anyone's hunting me," Lara replied flatly.  
  
"Um, yes," Lenny nodded. "But I feel I should point out that we are, technically speaking, inside a national park."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And from what I've heard," Lenny continued carefully, "The Croft is known to have a rather liberal approach to endangered species."  
  
She glared at him, but he soldiered on regardless.  
  
"It's just that since you're a passenger on my boat, and since the authorities might have some awkward questions if one of my passengers, for example, blew the arse off a tremarctos ornatus…"  
  
"Don't worry," Lara muttered. "I never kill any animal that isn't trying to eat me."  
  
"Oh," Lenny replied, with a bright smile. "No problems there, then. You do know what a tremarctos ornatus is, don't you?"  
  
"Spectacled Bear," Lara smiled. "And they eat plants."  
  
"Oh. I didn't know that."  
  
"Put it in your speech," Lara smiled, and returned her attention to the shotgun.  
  
*  
  
The Libelula was four hours behind them.  
  
The captain of the Libelula was an old man, one of many locals who'd befriended Albert Gullardo for the very simple reason that being his friend was the only way to safely cross his path. His boat - crewed by himself and his son - was in better shape than the San Vicente, but not by much.  
  
Gullardo was asleep downstairs, tired from the long drive from El Porvenir that morning and the preparations which had filled the rest of his day. Hugo was chatting to the captain's son at the wheel, Andrés was dozing against the gunwale, and Stig Pearson was down below somewhere – probably carving his mother's name into his arm, Phelner speculated. Caleb was pacing the deck like a nervous sentinel. He didn't like boats.  
  
Eric Phelner was seated at the bow, a folding electric lamp providing his light since the sun had set an hour ago. He was reading.  
  
It had taken him the better part of two years to compile these notes. The document in front of him was in essence an historical text, some of it about Bolivia. But it wasn't the sort of Bolivian history you could find on the Internet, or buy a book about. This pre-dated the Inca, the Tiahuanaco, all of 'em. This stuff pre-dated history.  
  
For much of it, he had to thank Jacqueline Natla. Posthumously, of course. After Lara Croft had put her to rest four years ago (long past time, in every sense), Natla Technologies had come under more lenient management and it was much easier to cajole, bribe or just plain hack information out of their database. Frankly, the poor soul who'd stepped in to keep the company afloat hadn't seen any use for some of the information Natla had guarded so diligently. Fairy stories about Atlantis didn't help the company's financial position or pay their employees – not unless you knew how to use the information, of course. And Phelner had a pretty good idea.  
  
There had been three rulers of Atlantis. Each bore a third of the Scion, the symbol and the source of that continent's power. Natla, Phelner had long ago decided, was his least favourite of the three. He was indifferent to Tihocan, who'd led his clan off into the wilderness and amounted, in the end, to a pile of bones under a monastery. But Qualopec? Phelner loved Qualopec. If the old boy was alive today and on this boat, Phelner would have kissed him.  
  
Because it was Qualopec, after what the legends called "the Curse of the Continent", who'd led the largest of the Atlantean clans into South America. He'd brought along his piece of the Scion, of course. And with it – unknown to Tihocan, presumably – he'd brought the Scion Heart. The fourth link. The piece that made the Scion's power absolute.  
  
It had never been used on Atlantis. The whole point of having three rulers of equal power was to stop any one person from reigning supreme and forcing their own agenda on the prehistoric world. The Scion Heart was, even then, a relic of an overthrown and forgotten regime. None of the three were supposed to claim it. But in the confusion of Atlantis' downfall, Qualopec had done just that.  
  
He and his people had landed on the eastern coast and passed through the area that would later become Brazil. They hadn't stopped – maybe they were driven on by primitive tribes or wild animals, maybe they just didn't like the climate. But whatever the reason, they'd kept going until they reached Peru, where Qualopec had built his new city in the well-protected mountains. And there he was eventually entombed, his Scion displayed before his body, until Lara Croft had come to claim it twenty thousand years later.  
  
But there was no mention of the Scion Heart being housed in Qualopec's city. For all intents and purposes, it had vanished during the exodus.  
  
After Natla had been released from her centuries-old sleep, she'd wanted to find the Heart just as much as the other pieces. More so, in fact. But the only reference to it her network had held was an obscure legend about a place called El Sciona Corazon, in the Amazon Basin.  
  
It seemed that a sorcerer named Yrac had arrived there in ancient times, bringing a mystical treasure with him. He and his followers had built a temple, where the treasure was used to "raise sunlight from the earth". Until some unsavoury characters had murdered the old fool and stolen his treasure.  
  
The connection wasn't hard to spot. Qualopec's story mentioned a man named Yroc, who'd rebelled against the clan during their long journey and escaped into the wilderness. Yrac, Yroc, whatever – the point was that he'd stolen the Heart from Qualopec, and used it to consolidate his power at El Sciona Corazon. Until somebody stole it from him.  
  
Where it had been for the centuries in between was anybody's guess. There were a hundred scraps of legend you could follow. Natla had hired a whole passel of adventurers to track down the various bits and pieces of the Scion – Pierre DuPont, that hillbilly Larson, and of course Lara Croft. But she'd sent out Albert Gullardo to find the Heart.  
  
And against all expectations, the son of a bitch had actually succeeded.  
  
After everything it had been through, the most powerful artefact on the face of the Earth had wound up in the coffin of some eighteenth-century monk, buried in a church graveyard in Paraguay. Gullardo tracked it down, god only knew how. Unfortunately – or very fortunately, depending on your point of view – Jacqueline Natla had met her destiny at the end of Lara's Uzis before Gullardo could deliver the package.  
  
Left holding the baby, Gullardo had sorted through his client list and eventually offered the relic to Eric Phelner, who he knew collected this sort of ancient junk. The Scion Heart had come into Phelner's possession for the paltry sum of fifteen thousand US.  
  
Hey, Gullardo had gotten a bargain. Natla would have just killed him.  
  
So now he had the Heart. And without the Scion itself, it was useless. But where there's a will there's a way, and where there's a way there's a greedy bastard to take advantage of it.  
  
Phelner had found the way, and he more than had the will. His research had uncovered the one plan, the one last chance, by which the full power of the Scion could still be salvaged. It involved Lara Croft, and it involved El Sciona Corazon.  
  
She'd escaped him in LA, after bonding with the Heart. He'd been lucky to escape her, he knew – she'd seemed more interested in leaving than in adding to her body count. But now she was running loose with the damn thing buried in her stomach.  
  
It didn't matter. He knew where she was going. She had no choice. The Heart would make her go there, and it would keep her alive until she reached her destination.  
  
El Sciona Corazon was by far the oldest ruin in South America, and probably the last undiscovered one. It lay one day up the river and a few hour's hike through the jungle. If Phelner could get there before that big- titted English bitch did, he could still make it all work.  
  
*  
  
It's back…  
  
…down-there-in-the-dark-it's-waiting-in-my-mind-it-wants-me-to-go…  
  
…it's talking to me…  
  
…it-wants-me-to-go-it-won't-let-me-stop-I-know-what-I-am-now…  
  
…it's showing me the way…  
  
…it-lives-inside-me-it-wants-me-to-go-I-know-it-won't-let-me-stop…  
  
…I'm going home…  
  
…it-wants-me-to-listen-it-wants-me-to-go-it's-telling-me-what-I-am- NOW…  
  
Lara sat up. The cabin snapped into focus around her.  
  
Her eyes shot towards the window. It was almost light outside – the sun had just come up. She could see the jungle slowly drifting by on the riverside.  
  
I'm home.  
  
"Stop!" She threw the blanket aside and sprang out of the bunk. She was barefoot, wearing only her tank top and briefs, but she didn't stop to dress. Ripping open the door, she sprinted onto the deck. Up at the wheel, Antonio looked down with his jaw hanging open as she ran over to the side.  
  
Her knuckles were white as she gripped the gunwale, her eyes fixed on the riverbank.  
  
I'm home.  
  
"Stop!" she yelled, waving her arms to get Antonio's attention – not that this was a problem. "Stop the boat!"  
  
Her sense of urgency closing the language barrier, Antonio slowed the boat to a halt.  
  
Lenny emerged from the other cabin a moment later, trying to button his trousers and rub sleep out of his eyes at the same time. "Lara? What's wrong?"  
  
"This is it!" Lara shouted, although he was only a few feet away. "This is it!"  
  
*  
  
Lenny found time to dress while Lara was gathering her gear. By the time she re-emerged from the cabin, dressed and ready for battle, Caesar had even managed to brew some coffee.  
  
"No thanks," she mumbled, striding past Caesar with his outstretched hand holding a steaming tin mug. Lenny was waiting for her by the gangplank.  
  
"So you're going in there, eh?" he mumbled, peering into the trees.  
  
Lara stuck one foot up on the gunwale to check her ankle-holster. "Looks like it."  
  
"And do you have any idea what you're looking for?"  
  
"Not yet." Lara straightened up and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks for everything, Lenny. You don't have to wait for me."  
  
"Eh?" Lenny frowned, as she started down the gangplank. "What d'you mean, we don't have to wait for you? Of course we have to… Lara?"  
  
"Go home, Lenny," she called over her shoulder.  
  
"But… look, at least take one of the boys with you!"  
  
Lara didn't respond as she pushed into the undergrowth, drawing her machete.  
  
"Alright," Lenny conceded. "But you can stuff all this 'don't wait for me' carry-on! We're waiting until tomorrow morning, and you be back by then, right? Lara?"  
  
No reply. Lara was gone.  
  
"Right." Lenny squared his shoulders. "That's sorted, then."  
  
*  
  
An hour later, Lara was three miles into the rain forest.  
  
She'd forgotten the way the jungle sounded. The buzzing of insects around her was almost deafening, intermitted with the cries of birds calling out to each other through the canopy above. On other trips she'd sometimes liked to kept her mind occupied by trying to identify the species by the sound of their calls, but not this time. The temperature was oppressive, the steaming heat worsened by the effort of hacking a path through the bush. She didn't think about where she was going. The jungle had a way of turning you around if you weren't careful – you could head in one direction all day and wind up right back where you'd started. But as she moved slowly on, clearing a path with the machete, she knew she was headed the right way. She could feel her destination in front of her, reeling her in like a fish on a hook, keeping her course better than any compass. She knew she was moving in a straight line away from the river. The Heart was telling her where to go.  
  
Half a mile later, she broke out of the foliage and hit the proverbial dead end. She was standing at the base of a cliff-face that towered above her at a sharp angle for at least two hundred feet. Looking off to the sides, she saw that the cliff curved around to the left and right, forming a vast horseshoe around her. It seemed to go on for miles.  
  
But the voice at the back of her mind was telling her to go straight ahead.  
  
She moved up the shallow slop to the cliff, craning her neck in an effort to see the top. Was she supposed to climb it? Tough call without any gear or back-up, but she'd climbed worse.  
  
She was about to look for a handhold when she felt the slight kick in her stomach. A warm tingle spread out from her lower abdomen, working it's way up through her torso. Feeling slightly dizzy, she lifted her tank top.  
  
The Scion Heart was rippling in her stomach, the crystal sphere gleaming with an inner light. Her right hand lifted of it's own accord, and she pressed a gloved hand against the cliff.  
  
Her hand passed through the rock as if it were smoke.  
  
Holding her breath, Lara pushed forward. The rock seemed to melt away, vanishing into nothing, and she stumbled into the vast tunnel beyond.  
  
*  
  
Stig Pearson was down on one knee, poring over the collection of objects spread out on a blanket in front of him - the disassembled pieces of a very large assault rifle. Stig was picking up each piece in turn, carefully inspecting it and, when it met with his approval, attaching it to the weapon taking shape in his hands.  
  
Eric Phelner leaned against the gunwale, a cigarette in his hand, watching Stig work. "That's a very nice gun you have," he commented.  
  
Stig responded with a soft grunt, focused on his work.  
  
Phelner's eyes wandered over the pieces on the blanket, lighting on the fat black tube lying near the edge. "So," he put on his best Elmer Fudd voice. "You hunt wabbits with that thing?"  
  
Stig looked up at his employer, his face registering confusion. "Rabbits?" He lifted the partially assembled rifle for Phelner's edification. "This is an M4 Carbine, sir. Full-auto, two-twenty-three Remington, forty-millimetre grenade launcher."  
  
"Yeah?" Phelner smiled. "So what does all that mean?"  
  
Stig blinked a couple of times. "This thing would vapourize a rabbit."  
  
Phelner rolled this information around in his head. "Cool," he grinned.  
  
"Phelner," Gullardo called from the bow. "Boat up ahead."  
  
Phelner pushed himself off the gunwale and hurried up to where Gullardo was standing. There was a rusty old barge anchored by the riverbank about fifty metres upriver. "Damn," he hissed. "She's already here."  
  
"We don't know it's her," Gullardo pointed out.  
  
"It's her," Phelner nodded, flicking his cigarette over the side. "Gather the troops."  
  
Gullardo looked over his shoulder. "Hugo, Andrés! Venido aquí!" He raised a brawny hand to pat Phelner on the shoulder. "You better get out of sight, jefe."  
  
Hugo was walking over to lean on the gunwale a few metres away, his hand resting on the handgun in the back of his belt. Andrés took up a position on the other side, sitting down out of sight with a heavy revolver in his lap. As Phelner hurried towards the cabin with Caleb in tow he looked up to see Stig, his rifle finally assembled, hurrying up the steps to conceal himself by the wheel. The captain was still steering the boat, and ordered his son to head for the stern and take cover.  
  
Gullardo could see movement on the deck as they drew closer – two young men, walking out to meet them. He raised a hand as the two boats drew together. "Hola, mis amigos. This a tour boat?"  
  
"Sí," said the taller of the two. "El San Vicente." He looked up towards the wheel deck, and waved to the Libelula's captain. "Hola, Señor Custavo."  
  
The captain hesitated, but raised his hand to wave back. "Caesar," he nodded. "Antonio."  
  
"You the captain?" Gullardo asked.  
  
"Hold on…" Caesar turned towards the bow and called, "Hey, Lenny! We got visitors. "  
  
Lenny was already on his way, a welcoming smile on his face. The smile faded when he saw who his visitor was.  
  
Gullardo, however, was smiling from ear to ear. "Como estás, Lenny."  
  
Lenny groaned inwardly. "Hi, Albert."  
  
Gullardo ran his eye along the line of the San Vicente. "Captain Lenny now, huh? Who'd you steal this heap of shit from?"  
  
"Me Spanish uncle willed it to me," Lenny replied, a nervous edge to his voice.  
  
Gullardo chuckled. "You're a funny guy, Lenny. Where's your passengers?"  
  
"Haven't got any."  
  
"No?" Gullardo glanced back at Hugo, who just shrugged. Turning back to the Englishman, he said, "We're looking for Lara Croft."  
  
Lenny managed a nervous grin. "Yeah, and I'm looking for Penelope Cruz."  
  
Gullardo responded with a grim smile. "You're too funny sometimes, Lenny." He calmly reached under his jacket and produced a .45 Long Slide handgun, calmly holding it by his side. Lenny took a step back. "Where is she?"  
  
Lenny wasn't technically a coward, but a gun was a gun and he knew he was facing a boatload of them. Swallowing hard, he replied, "She's… down below. I'll go wake her up." He turned and started walking back towards the cabin. His mind was on the sawn-off shotgun stored in the toolbox below.  
  
He got three paces before he heard the gunshot.  
  
Caesar turned half-around and dropped to the deck, a strangled scream breaking loose from his mouth as he clutched at his leg. The bullet had torn through his thigh a few inches above the knee, and a dark crimson stain was spreading from the wound and starting to flow down his leg.  
  
Lenny spun around and found himself staring down the muzzle of the Long Slide. Hugo and Andrés were now holding guns as well. Antonio moved to help Caesar, but the look in Hugo's eye stopped him.  
  
"That was my Bullshit Alarm, Lenny," Gullardo told him. "Don't make it go off again. Where is she?"  
  
Lenny's face was white, and he slowly raised his hands. "In the jungle. Left about an hour ago."  
  
"That's better. She alone?"  
  
Caesar gave a sickening groan as he rolled over onto all fours, still clutching his injured leg. He rolled back into a sitting position, and suddenly he was holding a gun – the .38 Special he kept tucked into his boot. Balancing on his left hand, he levelled the pistol at Gullardo.  
  
But the gunshot that followed wasn't the sharp whip-crack of the .38. It was the harsh chatter of an assault rifle from the wheel deck of the Libelula. A short hail of bullets split open Caesar's stomach, chest and shoulder, throwing him onto his back. Lenny froze where he stood. Antonio turned and ran, and Andrés hefted his big revolver at the man's fleeing back.  
  
Gullardo never gave the order to open fire, but neither did he tell them to stop. Antonio's body jerked forwards as a round from the revolver punched through his abdomen, but he somehow stayed on his feet until Hugo pumped a second bullet into his side. He dropped to his knees, already dying as Andrés shot him square between the shoulders.  
  
Lenny was running for the bow of the San Vicente, his legs moving of their own accord even though he knew there was no escape. He could feel Gullardo's sights on his back, and when the gun roared again he was almost ready for it. He felt a sledgehammer blow on his back, his lower left side caving in as the .45-calibre bullet tore it's way out through the front of his shirt, taking his breath with it. He stumbled, his own momentum spinning him around, and the gunwale stuck him in the stomach. He was briefly aware of the world turning upside down as he pitched over the side and plunged into the muddy green waters of the river.  
  
Gullardo lowered the pistol and shook his head, letting out a soft breath. He turned around to look up at the wheel deck, where Stig Pearson stood with his rifle resting across the bar in front of him. Next to him, Captain Custavo was leaning forward on both hands, his face grey. He looked like he was going to throw up.  
  
Gullardo stared at him. "Somos alambique los amigos, Custavo?" There was a cold edge to his voice.  
  
Custavo lowered his eyes, forcing a deep breath into his lungs. "Sí, Albert," he nodded shakily. "We're still friends."  
  
Gullardo nodded, and motioned Hugo and Andrés onto the deck of the San Vicente. "Make it quick."  
  
As the pair jumped over to search and dump the bodies, Phelner cautiously emerged from the cabin and made his way over to Gullardo. "You do good work," he told him, a little weakly. "Hope you're not charging me extra for that."  
  
"We'll put it down as expenses," Gullardo assured him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shaking one out into his mouth. Searching in his pocket for a lighter, he added, "Your girlfriend headed into the jungle an hour ago, Lenny says."  
  
"Then she's got a head start," Phelner nodded. "Let's saddle up."  
  
Twenty minutes later, after Caesar and Antonio had been weighted down and joined Lenny in the river, and Gullardo's boys had made a quick search of the San Vicente for anything of use or value, the group alighted on the riverbank and started into the jungle. Lara's machete-cleared trail was easy enough to follow.  
  
Finally left alone, Custavo checked on his son before sitting at the bow of the Libelula to clear his head. His shaking hands fumbled a small tinfoil-wrapped package out of his pocket, along with a packet of cigarette papers. His eyes wandered downriver, and stopped as he saw movement.  
  
There was a muddy, khaki-clad figure trying to drag himself onto the opposite bank, his progress hindered by the bloody wound in his side. Custavo's eyes picked out a shock of white hair.  
  
He jumped to his feet and shouted to his son. "Miguel! Venido aquí! Aprisa!"  
  
*  
  
The tunnel seemed to go on forever. Lara quickened her pace the further along the shaft she got – the voice in her mind was louder now. She could almost make out its words.  
  
…it-wants-me-to-listen-it-wants-me-to-go-it's-telling-me-things…  
  
She broke into a run, her boots thumping on the dirt floor of the tunnel as she drove towards the murky light at the other end. She burst through a hanging curtain of cobwebs, and charged out into bright sunlight.  
  
She was at one end of a broad canyon, the cliff behind her curving around on both sides to form a huge channel that stretched out before her. A blanket of mist hung over the jungle growth, obscuring any view more than twenty metres ahead.  
  
…can-hear-what-it's-saying-it-wants-me-to-go-screaming-as-loud-as-I- can-it-wants-me-to-go…  
  
Picking her way down the bank from the cave mouth, Lara started to press forward into the valley. Her pace quickened, her booted feet scraping through the mud as she started running again. She was close. It was here, she knew it. She could feel it up ahead, drawing her in.  
  
…it's-talons-in-my-brain-shouting-things-coming-into-my-mind-I-can- hear-what-it's-saying-it-wants-me-to-go…  
  
The undergrowth whipped at her bare legs as she sprinted forwards. Sharp blades of grass opened a scratch on her calf, but she didn't even feel the sting. She could hear it now, the voice in her mind, urging her forward. She ran until her lungs were bursting, splashing through a shallow pool and on through hanging vines. And when she thought she couldn't go on any further, she saw it.  
  
It loomed up out of the mist like a giant, casting its shadow across the muddy ground. Lara slowed to a trot, then to a walk as she drew closer. Her eyes wavered as she stared up at the thing that she'd come here to find, the thing that had been calling to her.  
  
She dropped to her knees, her breathing ragged, and dropped onto all fours. A racking cough ripped through her, tearing at her insides until she didn't think she could draw another breath. Finally the coughing fit subsided, and she gulped air back into her lungs. Raising her head, she looked up at it.  
  
The obelisk was twelve feet tall and jagged with age, a sharp finger of granite in the center of the valley. It wasn't the traditional kind of stelae that one usually found in archeologhical sites in this part of the continent. It almost looked Egyptian, but much, much older. Her eyes could make out shapes on the stone, faint traces of carvings, almost worn away with age. The whole thing was covered by moss and climbers.  
  
Forcing herself to her feet, Lara took a few shaky steps towards it. She raised her trembling hands and pressed them against the rough surface, scraping away some of the moss. There was a larger carving in the center, barely visible. As she brushed away the growth that obscured it, and began to see what it was, a soft smile spread across her face.  
  
It was a deep, carved circle, with three straight lines branching off like spokes on a wheel.  
  
She leaned against the obelisk, pressing her forehead against the cool stone. Her body was shaking, and a tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
She was home.  
  
She didn't hear the soft footfalls padding across the earth behind her. Before she knew what was happening, the creature was on her.  
  
The wind was knocked out of Lara's lungs as a powerful arm slammed into her side. Thrown from her feet, she landed sprawling in the dirt with the creature's shrill cry screaming into her ears. All thoughts of the obelisk and the voice temporarily pushed aside, she rolled and came up on one knee, snatching for the Sigs on her belt. The thing jumped down from the base of the obelisk and stalked towards her.  
  
It was the shape of a man, but over eight feet tall, and bore no other characteristics that could be called human. It walked on long digitigrade legs, bent back like the hind legs of an animal, and it's elongated arms ended in spindly four-fingered claws. It looked like some great beast that had been skinned alive, it's body a mass of leathery red muscle and sharp, protruding bones. Gleaming yellow eyes bore down on her, and a long black tongue flicked between it's jagged brown teeth.  
  
She'd encountered this kind of monster before. She'd seen them in Atlantis, in the bowels of Natla's pyramid. Hundreds of them.  
  
With an ear-splitting scream, the creature charged her.  
  
Instinct took over. Lara raised her guns, gritting her teeth as her fingers tightened on the triggers. The creature rocked back as a hail of .357 shells ripped gouging holes in its torso, thick black blood spraying across the ground. Lara rose to her feet, still shooting, driving the thing back with gunfire. Her last round tore its shoulder open, kicking it back onto the ground as her guns clicked empty. Quickly holstering them, she dragged the shotgun from her backpack.  
  
The creature was trying to rise, a shrill keening noise coming from its throat as it pushed itself up into a sitting position. Taking one step forward, Lara raised the shotgun and let loose a single blast that ripped the monster's head clean off. The shattered body crumpled into the ground.  
  
She had no time to congratulate herself before she sensed movement behind her. Whirling around, she saw another one hurtling from the scrub on all fours. The shotgun bellowed again, and the creature fell forward on its face as its left arm was severed at the elbow. Backpedaling as it fell at her feet, Lara worked the slide action and fired two more blasts into its head and back. It didn't get up again, but then it didn't need to.  
  
They were coming out of the jungle all around her, at least a dozen of them. None of them charged – they'd seen what had happened to the first wave and were stalking slowly towards her, some on two legs, some on four. One of them let out a soft hiss, and the sound was picked up by the others.  
  
Lara slowly circled around, keeping the shotgun raised. She had two shells left, and these things took a lot of killing. She hadn't reloaded her pistols – stupid – and once the shotgun was empty she'd have no time for anything but the .45. That could maybe stop one of them, or at least slow it down.  
  
On the other hand, they didn't know that.  
  
One of them was moving ahead of the others, striding on its hind legs, it's yellow eyes burning into her. Taking a deep breath, Lara leaned forward on her left foot, locked the shotgun into her hip, and squeezed the trigger. The creature fell back as the spread of buckshot tore its belly open. The others backed up a step as their unfortunate sibling curled up on the ground, rasping in agony.  
  
One shot left. She was almost beginning to think she should use it on herself, but that was the coward's way out. She started edging towards the obelisk, hoping to at least be able to cover her back.  
  
A sudden rush of movement behind her made her turn, just before one of the creatures cannoned into her. She raised the shotgun and fired, the shot hitting nothing but air as the creature swung an outspread claw and knocked the weapon aside. Lara lost her balance, and had no time to recover before one of its legs swung up to smack into her shoulder. Her arm went numb as she fell, and it's grasping claw scored across her ribs, barely scraping the skin as it tore away a chunk of her tank top. She landed heavily on her back, already trying to crawl backwards to avoid the monster's follow-up attack. It surged forward, its scream tearing into her ears as it dropped onto all fours on top of her, wrapping its talons around her throat.  
  
Lara squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping it would be quick.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
A few seconds later, the grip on her throat was released, and the creature's weight lifted off her. She opened her eyes and slowly sat up.  
  
The thing was backing away, its head lowered, its arms hanging limp by its sides. Looking around, Lara saw the others backing up as well. She slowly pushed herself up onto one knee, feeling for the .45 on her ankle. They didn't react as she drew the small handgun and rose to her feet.  
  
What the hell are they doing?  
  
Then she noticed the tingling in her stomach, the same sensation she'd felt at the cliff. She looked down to see her torn tank top hanging open, revealing the Scion Heart in her belly. The crystal sphere in the center was shining like a lantern.  
  
The tingling continued to spread, until it engulfed her entire body. She stumbled back, her head swimming. She felt the pistol drop from her nerveless fingers, and then darkness overtook her.  
  
The creatures around her slowly turned and loped back into the jungle, leaving their dead behind. All except one. It padded slowly towards her, its gleaming yellow eyes staring at the amulet in her stomach, a twisted parody of a smile splitting it's face.  
  
Lara raised her head to look at the beast, her eyes glazed over. Her arms dangled at her sides as she opened her mouth and spoke in a voice which was not her own.  
  
"Show me."  
  
The creature bowed, and moved slowly towards the stone obelisk. Raising one wiry arm, it pressed it's palm against the large carving in the center.  
  
There was a deep rumble, faint at first, then rising in volume as the ground began to quake beneath their feet. The creature stepped back, moving behind Lara as she turned towards the other end of the canyon.  
  
The ground was falling away behind the obelisk, and a huge dark mass was slowly rising into view. Lara's face broke into a smile.  
  
I'm home.  
  
*  
  
Lenny Cartwright, as Lara had said, had more luck than he deserved.  
  
The bullet had passed through his side just below his ribcage, tearing away a chunk of muscle and fat tissue. A couple of inches to the right and it would have gone through his stomach. As it was, he had just enough strength to keep his feet under him as Custavo half-carried, half- dragged him down the steps into the main cabin of the San Vicente. The old man steered Lenny towards the bunk and tried to guide him down as he slumped onto the foam mattress.  
  
Lenny let out a sharp hiss, pressing a bloodstained towel into his wound to staunch the bleeding. His face was a waxy grey, and his eyes were misted over. Custavo was worried that he might be going into shock.  
  
"Just keep pressing on it," Custavo told him. Turning to the door, he yelled for his son. The boy arrived a few seconds later, his eyes wide with fear. "Where's the first aid kit, Lenny?" Custavo asked.  
  
Lenny motioned towards the footlocker pushed up against one wall. At his father's command the kid hurried over to open the lid, and handed over a small plastic box.  
  
"Damn, Lenny," the old man cursed, rummaging through it. "You're one lucky bastard. You got any morphine?"  
  
"I dunno," Lenny growled, peeling back the towel to peer at his wound. When he saw it, he decided he didn't want to look any more.  
  
Custavo handed the box back to his son. "Consiga los vendajes." As the boy started breaking out the bandages, Custavo rummaged through his pockets and produced the roll of tinfoil again.  
  
"What's that?" Lenny frowned.  
  
"Painkiller."  
  
Despite his obvious agony, Lenny gave him a weak grin. "You still smoking that crap, Custavo?"  
  
"Hey, don't knock it," Custavo told him, skillfully rolling the joint in his calloused fingers. "I'd go blind without this stuff."  
  
"Yeah, right. Save it for the cops."  
  
"We're gonna have to patch you up and leave you down here," Custavo explained. "They think you're dead. When they get back, just keep your head down until we're gone."  
  
"Not a problem," Lenny winced. "I'll probably bleed to death before they get back anyway."  
  
"You're breaking my heart, Lenny." Custavo pushed the joint between his patient's lips and started searching for his lighter.  
  
*  
  
The found the tunnel mouth with little difficulty. Lara's trail led directly to it, a perfectly circular opening in the cliff-face. Stig went first – he'd volunteered as "point-man", much to Phelner's amusement – followed closely by Gullardo and Hugo, who'd armed himself with a shotgun. Phelner stayed back a few feet at Caleb's insistence, and Andrés provided the rearguard.  
  
"What the hell is this?" Gullardo asked of Phelner as they made their way down the tunnel. "There ain't supposed to be anything out here. Who built this tunnel?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't the Conquistadors, I can tell you that."  
  
Gullardo whistled, signalling Stig to stop. The man nodded and crouched, keeping his M4 facing front. Gullardo turned to face Phelner. "You better level with me, jefe. What are we walking into?"  
  
Phelner sensed Caleb moving his hand towards his gun. Deciding that diplomacy was the easiest course, he raised his hands. "Alright. There's a canyon on the other side. With an old temple."  
  
"No temples around here."  
  
"None that anyone's found," Phelner corrected him. "When I say old, I mean really old."  
  
"And why is Croft going there?" The tone of Gullardo's voice suggested that honesty would be the best policy.  
  
Phelner got the message. "You remember that item you sold me a few years back? That's where it came from."  
  
A slow grin appeared on Gullardo's face. "Treasure hunt, huh?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
Gullardo nodded, and patted him on the shoulder. "I like working for you, Eric. You know that, right?" He turned and signalled for Stig to proceed. Trying to supress a sigh of relief, Phelner followed.  
  
They emerged at the other end a few minutes later. Gullardo scanned the foliage, and motioned for Stig to go ahead. He and Hugo fanned out in front, covering the others as they moved at a steady pace towards their objective. Gullardo could hear Phelner's breathing starting to quicken behind him.  
  
Up ahead, Stig pricked up his ears. "You hear something?" he said to Hugo.  
  
"Sí," Hugo nodded. "Wait a minute, you'll smell it too." He grinned.  
  
It didn't take them long to find what they were looking for. They could see it through the jungle long before they reached it. They eventually moved out into the clearing at the center of the canyon, and looked up at the structure looming above them. Hugo let out a low whistle.  
  
There was the stone obelisk, standing on its low dias. And twenty metres behind it stood a pyramid.  
  
But this wasn't a tiered Inca structure. It was eighty feet in height, four-sided, with a smooth granite surface following a fifty-degree angle to a point at the top. It looked like it had been imported from the Giza Plain. It was caked with dirt, but Gullardo noticed that it didn't have any jungle growth over it like the obelisk or the cliff around them. There was a high rectangular opening at the front of the pyramid, and under the layer of earth they could clearly see the raised lines of the carving above it. It was the same engraving as the one on the obelisk. "You gotta be kidding," Gullardo murmured.  
  
Phelner's eyes were shining. "I knew it," he breathed.  
  
"Albert!" Hugo called, and Gullardo noticed the tension in his partner's voice. "You better come look at this!"  
  
Hugo was standing next to a crumpled figure on the ground a few metres away. As he hurried over, Gullardo felt a cold chill down his spine at the sight of the… thing lying in front of him. "What the hell is that?"  
  
"Search me, hermano," Hugo replied, his voice tight. "There's a couple more over there. All I can say is I'm glad they ain't moving."  
  
"It's her," Phelner called, carefully stepping over to peer down at another one of the slain creatures. "She must be inside already. We better get in there."  
  
"Stig, check it out," Gullardo ordered, and Stig Pearson raised his rifle to approach the pyramid entrance.  
  
Caleb took Phelner's arm and gently pulled him back, looking down at the monster on the ground with undisguised revulsion. It was curled up into a foetal position, it's stomach peppered with buckshot. Drawing his gun, he peered at the jungle around them. "Better stay back, Mr Phelner. There might be more of…"  
  
He only caught a flash of movement as the creature on the ground unfolded. One elongated arm shot out, and a harsh choke was knocked out of Caleb's throat as the claws slammed into his stomach.  
  
"Oh, shit!" Phelner screamed, staggering away.  
  
The others spun around as the creature stood up, its arm half-buried in Caleb's body. It lifted the writhing man off his feet, its other talon already around his throat. Caleb managed to find enough breath for a scream, blood and bile spilling out of his mouth, just before the thing yanked its arm back and tore his head off.  
  
Gullardo didn't hesitate. Drawing his .45, he started pumping the trigger as fast as he could. The monster recoiled as four bullets struck it in the side, but turned to face its attacker with a blood-curdling scream. A second later the blast of Hugo's shotgun kicked in, and the creature was thrown onto it's back. It performed a clumsy backward roll, Caleb's headless corpse still dangling from its arm, and rose to it's feet again.  
  
Gullardo had just run out of ammo, and was reloading as fast as he could. Phelner was on his feet and running towards Andrés with his arms over his head. Andrés was trying to aim his revolver, but the American was in his line of fire.  
  
And then Stig Pearson stepped up to the plate, raised the M4, and fired his grenade launcher. The 40mm shell struck the creature in the hip, as far as anyone could tell. The resulting explosion sent everyone spinning to the ground and literally blew the monster to bits. Chunks of dirty red flesh bounced across the dirt.  
  
A few heartbeats later, Phelner raised his head. The others were slowly rising to their feet, and Stig was approaching what was left of his target with his rifle still trained on the largest piece. Glancing over at Gullardo, he muttered, "I don't like this, sir."  
  
A sound started up in the jungle around them – a soft hiss, coming from all directions. Gullardo slapped a fresh clip into his gun and snarled, "Neither do I."  
  
A few seconds later, the attack began.  
  
Leathery red bodies broke cover all around the clearing, sending up screams as they galloped towards the group of humans around the obelisk. Stig reacted instantly, opening fire on the creature bearing down on him. It kept coming even as the bullets ripped it to shreds, and finally collapsed a few feet away from him. He was already reloading before it hit the ground.  
  
Andrés blasted two rounds in the direction of a red beast that was loping towards his uncle, missing it both times. He didn't see the other one looming behind him until it was too late. A clawed hand closed around his bicep, and he shrieked as the creature yanked him off his feet, dislocating his arm. The creature swung its arm back and threw the kid, sending him spinning through the air until he crashed into the obelisk. His body wrapped around the stone pillar with a sickening crunch, and he left behind a splash of blood as he slid to the ground.  
  
Gullardo shot the one approaching him square in the face, and it instantly collapsed. "Headshots!" he roared, sighting down another one. "Go for headshots!"  
  
If Stig heard him, he apparently wasn't listening. The man was surrounded by four of the things, and was driving two of them back with a hail of bullets. One of them fell, the other stayed on its feet. Stig rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding a swinging claw, and managed to get out of the circle as he snatched at a full clip on his belt. Gullardo heard Hugo's shotgun firing somewhere behind him.  
  
Phelner was sprinting past, heading straight for the pyrmaid. "Into the temple!" he screamed, as he sailed past Gullardo. "They won't follow us into the temple!"  
  
"How the hell do you know?" Gullardo shouted, but Phelner was too intent on reaching his destination to bother with an explanation. Gullardo shouted for Hugo to follow him, and charged after the American. He saw Phelner vanish into the doorway, and as he reached it himself he risked a glance over his shoulder. He saw Stig knocked to the ground, a swarm of the creatures closing in to finish him off. Stig managed to bury his M4 in the stomach of one of them, letting off a burst of fire that sent the monster rolling backwards, but two more were on top of him in a flash. They started ripping into him like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Gullardo quickly looked away as Stig was torn limb from limb. He looked around for Hugo, but couldn't see him.  
  
Hurling himself through the door of the pyramid, he dropped to one knee and raised his gun. The door was narrow enough to force them to attack one at a time, but he didn't feel that this gave him much of a tactical advantage. Half a dozen of the things came into view, gathering around the entrance. And stopped.  
  
Gullardo slowly rose to his feet, keeping his gun trained on the closest one. It hissed at him like a cat, and his trigger finger moved by reflex alone. The bullet struck it in the left eye, showering its chest with yellow slime, and passed through the back of its head in a geyser of black blood.  
  
"Vaya al infierno," he spat, as the beast slumped to the ground. The others stepped back, but didn't retreat.  
  
Gullardo looked back over his shoulder. The entrance led to a stone corridor, and the sunlight from outside didn't penetrate very far. But he could see a light further down, a dull orange glow coming from somewhere inside. The monsters outside didn't seem to be in any hurry to enter, which was fine by Gullardo. Phelner was somewhere inside, and so, presumably, was Lara Croft.  
  
He tightened his grip on the Long Slide as he started to slowly back down the corridor. He'd made up his mind that he was going to kill somebody today. If Croft was still alive, he'd take her out and collect his fee from Phelner. If she wasn't…  
  
He gritted his teeth. He was definitely going to kill somebody today…  
  
*  
  
Eric Phelner reached the last rung, and dropped out of the shaft. He was surrounded by orange light.  
  
The tunnel had led about sixty metres in a straight line – if his mental arithmetic was  
  
right, that put him roughly three-quarters towards the center of the pyramid. It ended in a wide circular shaft, going straight down into the floor. The sides of the shaft were cut with grooves, providing a ladder to the bottom.  
  
The light was coming from down below. With only a second's hestation, he'd started to climb down.  
  
Now he was standing beneath it, in a huge circular room carved out of the earth. The walls were literally covered with heiroglyphs – some of them looked Egyptian, the rest were unrecogniseable. The center of the room was dominated by a broad round pillar, also covered with carvings. There was a gap in the center of the pillar, and in the gap was… Phelner looked closer, and a manic smile broke out on his face.  
  
There was a small carving displayed in the center of the pillar – a life-size stone representation of the Atlantean Scion.  
  
And in front of the pillar, sitting back on her haunches with her legs folded under her, was Lara Croft.  
  
She was covered with dirt, had scratches on her arms and legs and a dark bruise on her left shoulder. Her ponytail had come loose, and her dark reddish-brown hair fell around her shoulders. Moving as quietly as he could, Phelner stepped around to her right. Her eyes were closed, a serene expression on her face. The front of her tank top was ripped open at the bottom, and Phelner saw with satisfaction that the Scion Heart was still attached to her body. The crystal sphere in the center was glowing so brightly it hurt his eyes. That was when he realised, with an odd mixture of fear and excitement, that the orange glow in the room was coming from her.  
  
Lara's eyes stayed closed, she didn't move an inch, but a soft smile stole across her lips. "Hello, Eric."  
  
Phelner wet his dry lips with a nervous tongue. "Hi… Lara," he nodded. "Glad you made it."  
  
"You too," Lara smiled.  
  
A sharp sound made Phelner turn – the sound of boots striking the stone floor. Albert Gullardo dropped out of the shaft and looked around him, his face lined with anger. Seeing Lara kneeling in front of the pillar, he didn't hesitate. He strode forward, a snarl curling his mouth, as he trained his gun on the back of her head.  
  
"Wait!" Phelner bellowed, even as the muzzle of the gun flared.  
  
The bullet never made it. There was a bright flash, a ripple in the air, and the flattened shell bounced to the floor behind Lara's back. Gullardo fired two more shots, producing the same result.  
  
"Will you cut that out!" Phelner shouted. "I told you, I want her alive!"  
  
Gullardo glared at him. "I want my boys alive, but it's a little late for that, jefe."  
  
"It's time," Lara whispered. He eyes remained closed as she gracefully rose to her feet.  
  
Gullardo pointed the gun at her again as she slowly walked to the pillar. He narrowly avoided killing his employer as Phelner moved between him and his target. "Just hold it!" Phelner hissed. "This is what I've been waiting for."  
  
Lara peeled her torn tank top off over her head. She wore a dirty grey sports bra underneath, stained with sweat. Tossing the ripped garment aside, she laid her hands on the amulet buried in her stomach. The light in the crystal glowed brighter. Phelner moved back, holding out his hand to usher Gullardo away. The big Colombian complied, but kept his gun fixed on Lara.  
  
Her hands closed around the Scion Heart, and it started to ripple. The probes buried in her skin began to move.  
  
…feel-it-in-my-gut-like-talons-tearing-at-my-stomach …  
  
Her face twitched with pain as she slowly pulled, drawing the amulet out. The probes slid out of her belly, the wounds they left behind closing up as if they were never there.  
  
…it's-shouting-things-into-my-brain-it-wants-me-to-listen…  
  
The three arms of the amulet straightened out, and Lara leaned forward to place the Heart in the center of the stone Scion.  
  
…it's-telling-me-things-feel-it-in-my-gut-it's-telling-me-what-it- wants…  
  
The Heart fitted into the center of the Scion, it's arms melting into the stone. The crystal started to pulse like a heartbeat.  
  
I'm home.  
  
Lara turned and walked towards Phelner, still smiling, her eyes still closed. A few steps away from the pillar, she collapsed.  
  
The stone Scion started to move, rotating slowly on it axis. The Heart was pulsing faster now, and as the Scion picked up momentum, the room began to light up. A blinding orange light flared out from the pillar, causing the two men in the room to shield their eyes. The carvings on the pillar glowed like neon, and as the spinning Scion reached it's height the walls started to light up as well, the carvings around them flaring into life. A dull vibration, felt rather than heard, started to come up through the floor. Phelner's hands were over his mouth – he was almost jumping up and down on the spot. "Yes," he hissed, his hands shaking. "Yesyesyesyesyessss…"  
  
Lara sat up. The smile was gone from her face as she rose to her knees and stared desperately at the room around her. Brushing her hair out of her face, she looked over at Phelner. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Phelner? What is this place?"  
  
"This place?" Phelner beamed. "This is the last pure remnant of the Atlantean civilization." He slowly moved towards her. "All the other ruins in this Third World sink-hole are just crude imitations, probably built by Qualopec's descendants. As for what's going on," he giggled, running his trembling hands through his hair. "You just made me rich, Lara."  
  
She got to her feet, glancing over at Gullardo. He was still holding the gun, but was too busy staring at the glowing room around him to worry about her. "You're already rich," she pointed out.  
  
"Not rich enough," Phelner told her, waggling a finger. "I'm talking 'emperor of the world' rich."  
  
Lara looked over at the pillar. The Scion was spinning so fast the eye could no longer make it out, and the light was streaming from it like rays from the sun. She raised her hand to feel her stomach. "It was inside me."  
  
"Sure was," Phelner agreed. He was enjoying himself.  
  
"But…" She shook her head. "The Scion Heart was just one piece. It was useless without the actual Scion, and I…"  
  
"Uh-huh," Phelner nodded, moving closer. "And you destroyed the Scion. The physical shell, anyway. The real Scion stayed with you." He strode over to the pillar, getting as close as he could. There was more heat coming off it than a bonfire. "See? The energy doesn't come from the Scion, it's just channelled through it. The source of the energy is the pyramid itself. The Scion was just a key – like a control chip, an interface. The information stored in it told the pyramid how to channel it's power."  
  
"Like a microchip," said Lara, her voice hollow.  
  
"Exactly. And when you touched the Scion and went on your little acid trip to Atlantis, it bonded with you and the programming was replicated in your mind. You've been walking around for four years with a… a backup copy in your brain."  
  
Lara nodded, lowering her eyes. "And now?"  
  
"Now?" Phelner motioned towards the pillar. "Now it's back where it belongs. When you bonded with the Heart, you downloaded the programming into it. The Heart just needed to find its way back here. It used you as a vehicle."  
  
"It's intelligent," Lara nodded. "I heard a voice…"  
  
"Not really," Phelner shrugged. "It was homing in on it's power source, that's all. It must've tapped into your subconscious so it could interface with you on a level you understood. If you heard a voice, it was probably just you." He gazed at the spinning Scion, his eyes shining. "And now all the information it needs has been transferred into this pyramid."  
  
"So what happens now?" Lara spat, staring him down. "You going to 'grow wings and try to breed a master race'?" Her attempt at an American accent was awful, but her impersonation of Phelner was pretty clear.  
  
Phelner laughed. "No, I got bigger things in mind. I'm going to do what Natla never had a chance to do. Breeding those freaks outside was one of the cruder applications. She got impatient. If my buddy Albert over here had managed to deliver the Heart before you nailed her, she'd be where I am now."  
  
"And where's that?" Lara frowned. She looked sideways at Gullardo, who was staring at Phelner with an expression that mirrored her own. She remembered that her Sigs were still unloaded. The shotgun and the .45 were somewhere outside.  
  
"Are you kidding?" Phelner snorted. He indicated the glowing pillar with a sweep of his arm. "I mean, look at this thing! Free Lunch, anyone? The Scion Heart focuses and magnifies the energy output, refines it on a sub-atomic level. With the Heart in place, this one little pyramid could power this entire continent! Now that we've got it to work, we can retro- engineer Atlantean technology. Bring the world back to a level of technological evolution that it hasn't seen for twenty thousand years..."  
  
"With you pushing all the buttons, I assume?" Lara interrupted.  
  
"Hey," Phelner spread his hands. "Somebody has to."  
  
Lara shook her head. "And I thought you had some imagination, Eric."  
  
Phelner's eyebrows knitted together. "'Scuse me?"  
  
Lara grinned. "You don't have any idea, do you? Using the pyramids as power stations? Imitating Atlantean technology? You're like a monkey with a computer, Eric. If you knew what this thing was really capable of…"  
  
Phelner sighed. "Albert?"  
  
Gullardo gave him a questioning look.  
  
Phelner waved a dismissive hand in Lara's direction. "I don't think we need her anymore. You can shoot her now."  
  
Gullardo had only followed about half of the conversation, but someone was finally speaking his language. "About goddamn time," he sneered. He levelled the Long Slide and fired.  
  
And once again, the bullet never made it. The pillar flared for a second, and the bullet incinerated in midair.  
  
Phelner's jaw dropped. "What the fu…?"  
  
Lara was still grinning. "I told you you didn't get it. You wanted to know how the Scion works?" She moved towards the pillar. "It tells the pyramid how to channel it's power, you're right about that. But that's only half the equation. That's why the Atlanteans never allowed anyone to use the Heart. It was too much power for one person to have. And only one person can have it." She stretched out her arm and pushed her hand into the center of the pillar, into the stream of light flowing through it.  
  
Her glove melted from the heat, dripping from her hand like syrup, but her skin wasn't even blistered. "I bonded with the Heart. I can still feel it in my head. You can't push the buttons, Eric, because there's no buttons to push."  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
"The other half of the interface? It's me."  
  
Her hand was now the center of a rolling ball of orange flame.  
  
I can feel it.  
  
Glowing tendrils of light played between her fingers, creeping up her arm, slowly engulfing her body. Her hair whipped around her face as if she was at the nexus of a tornado.  
  
All that energy, all that power, waiting for me to channel it. I can tell it how to move.  
  
I can give it a name, a mind. I can leave my body behind and meld with it, complete the bond.  
  
Phelner backed away. The heat coming from the pillar – from Lara – was unbearable.  
  
I can make this jungle wither and die with a single thought. I can control the weather patterns, turn this country into a desert or a paradise.  
  
I can make every living thing sit up and listen to me. I can create new life.  
  
With just… a single…thought.  
  
I can be a goddess.  
  
Lara slowly turned her hand in the stream, facing her palm upwards.  
  
I can be a goddess…  
  
Or I can just…  
  
She clenched her upturned hand into a fist.  
  
…pull the plug.  
  
The stone Scion instantly stopped spinning, snapping back into focus. The carvings on the walls started to fade, the orange glow dimming around the room.  
  
Phelner's lip quavered as the Scion Heart stopped glowing, the rainbow colours on the surface fading to a dull grey. The flames around Lara instantly died. She pulled her hand away and smiled as the stone Scion started to sink down into the base of the pillar. The vibration in the floor had given way to a deep rumble. "Sorry, Eric," Lara shrugged, and ran.  
  
Gullardo tried to get a bead on her as she charged towards him, but Lara was moving too fast. Twisting her body, she grabbed him by the wrist, twisted his hand back, and snatched the gun away as his fingers went numb. She followed up with a swift kick to his side, then pushed him away and kept running.  
  
"No!" Phelner screamed, lunging at the pillar. He grabbed the sinking Scion, trying desperately to pull it back up. There was another flash, and the stench of burning flesh. Phelner shrieked as his hand disintegrated as if it was in a blast furnace. He was thrown back from the pillar, flames streaming from his crumbling arm.  
  
The rumbling was defeaning now. Gullardo staggered to his feet, looking around to see Lara's boots vanishing back up the shaft. He turned to see Phelner crawling across the floor, clutching at the mangled stump that was all that was left of his right arm. "Oh jesus…" he choked. "Help me…"  
  
The entire room was shaking, ages-old dust raining down from the ceiling. Gullardo looked back at the shaft, then gave his mutilated boss one last glance.  
  
"Fuck you, mi amigo." He turned and ran.  
  
He made it to the ladder and started to drag his body up the shaft as fast as he could. The pyramid was shaking as if it was in an earthquake, and twice he nearly lost his grip. He could still hear Phelner screaming from below as he forced himself over the edge of the shaft.  
  
He got up and ran, the floor buckling under his feet. Halfway down the tunnel, he saw the light at the other end slowly fading. Dirt was pouring in through the door, and he realised that the pyramid was sinking. Sprinting as fast as he could, he lunged past the avalanche of earth and dragged himself out into the sunlight. Stumbling over the sliding ground, Gullardo hurled himself clear. He hit the ground and rolled, scrambling for safety.  
  
Behind him, the pyramid was slowly descending back into the ground, leaving behind a crater two hundred metres wide. The ground kept shaking long after it had dropped from sight.  
  
Coughing and spluttering, Gullardo dragged himself off the ground and rose to his knees, trying to see through the huge dust cloud settling around him. There was a sharp click, and he suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun.  
  
Lara stood over him, her hair and clothes caked with dust. She leaned forward to press the muzzle of the Long Slide against his forehead.  
  
Gullardo looked up at her, and his face broke into a weary grin. "Dead bang."  
  
Lara nodded, and treated him to a smile of her own. "It's nice to finally meet you, Albert."  
  
And with that she uncocked the hammer and lowered the gun. She turned on her heel and walked towards the jungle, breaking into a jog as she vanished into the trees.  
  
Gullardo watched her go, slowly shaking his head. "Toda la mina del placer, you little witch." He slowly lay down on his back, trying to catch his breath.  
  
A minute later, he heard another familiar voice calling his name. Raising his head, he called back. "Hugo? Over here."  
  
Hugo hurried over from the treeline, his shotgun still clutched in his hands. His shirt was torn and smeared with mud, but otherwise he seemed unscathed. "What the hell happened, man?"  
  
"Many things," Gullardo snorted. He took Hugo's hand and dragged himself to his feet. "Where you been all this time?"  
  
"In the jungle, man," Hugo shrugged. "I saw what those things did to Stig, and I couldn't find you, so I ran into the jungle. Then there was, I dunno, an earthquake or something, and they all took off." He waved a hand. "They're gone. Where's Phelner?"  
  
Gullardo nodded towards the crater. "In there." He leaned over and started patting the dust off his clothes.  
  
Hugo edged over to the lip of the massive crater and looked down. The sunlight penetrated about a hundred metres down the jagged sides of the hole, but there was only blackness below. Hugo chewed his lip. "We ain't getting paid, are we?"  
  
Gullardo snorted and spat on the ground. "Nope."  
  
Hugo took another look into the hole. "The woman in there too?"  
  
"Nah. She took off that way," Gullardo jerked his thumb towards the trees. "Probably headed back to the river."  
  
Hugo gripped his shotgun. "We can still catch her, then."  
  
"What's the point?" Gullardo retorted, throwing up his hands. "You just said we ain't getting paid. She's not my problem any more." He winced, pressing a hand against his bruised ribs. "And I ain't taking that bitch on for free," he added under his breath.  
  
Hugo walked back from the crater, laying the shotgun back over his shoulder. "So what do we do now, hermano?"  
  
Gullardo looked over towards the obelisk. Andrés was lying underneath it, his body twisted, almost broken in half. "I'm gonna bury my nephew." He turned to Hugo, and patted him on the shoulder. "And then you and me are gonna go somewhere and drink chicha 'till we can't stand up."  
  
*  
  
4 Epilogue  
  
The San Vicente pulled in alongside Lenny's hut early the following morning. Lara had tried to convince Lenny to let her take him all the way to Rurrenabaque for medical attention, but he'd said that if she just saw him home they could send for a doctor who wouldn't ask awkward questions about gunshot wounds. Lenny Cartwright had never been a big fan of awkward questions.  
  
Lara moored the boat and went down to the cabin to help him off the bunk. As they emerged on deck, Lara supporting some of his weight over her shoulders, Lenny murmured, "Y'know, I've been thinking it might be time to pack it in."  
  
"Meaning what?" Lara asked, steering him towards the gangplank.  
  
"Go back to Blighty," Lenny sighed. "Turn meself in and face the music. I mean, at least you don't get shot at in prison. Beaten up yes, stabbed if you're not careful, but not shot at."  
  
"I think Custavo's painkillers are still working, Lenny," Lara smiled, as they reached the deck below.  
  
"No they're bloody not," Lenny winced, clutching at his bandaged side. "What about you, anyway? What's next for The Croft?"  
  
Lara turned her eyes upriver. For a moment she closed her eyes, silenced her mind, and listened.  
  
She heard nothing. The voice was gone.  
  
"I'm going home."  
  
5 The End 


End file.
